


Just Tired

by oclark1226



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics), Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Batfamily (DCU), Canonical Character Death, Depression, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Dick Grayson is Robin, Dick Grayson-centric, Fluff, Gen, Hurt Dick Grayson, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Panic Attacks, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, trigger warning, tw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 11:08:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24848788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oclark1226/pseuds/oclark1226
Summary: Dick Grayson is feeling burnt-out, stressed, and generally not good enough. He tries to deal with that by cutting. Rest of the family finds out and everyone gets all lovey-dovey. Probably ooc but I don't care cause this was a vent fic  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson
Comments: 14
Kudos: 455





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Gets kinda graphic. Plz heed the warnings. This mentions past times that Dick's mental health took a dive, so I'm going to write some more to show that stuff because it didn't actually happen. Also, used some inspiration/lines from "Feel Something" by Bea Miller, but it's not a songfic. Just batboy bein sad and other batboys bein worried. And some snuggles. Cause those make everything better.

He was tired. That was all. It wasn’t that Tim pointed out an obvious mistake he’d made while working a case. It wasn’t that Jason knocked him on his ass during a sparring match without breaking a sweat. It wasn’t that Damian had to remind him to eat for the second time in as many days. And it certainly wasn’t that Bruce nearly took a bullet for him during a routine drug bust because he hadn’t been focused. 

He just needed a break was all. Then, he’d be good as new. Then, his family would finally get off his back. 

“Dick, there’s no way the shooter was left-handed. Not with that angle.”

“Really? That’s all ya got, Dickhead?”

“Grayson? You missed dinner. Again.”

“What was that, Nightwing? You could’ve been killed!”

After their nightly patrol, he found himself in his childhood bedroom, where he’d been staying for almost a week. A snowstorm kept both him and Jason stuck at the manor. Wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt, he was considering getting ready to sleep, but his mind just wouldn’t shut up. All he could think about was how useless everything was.

Crime never stops. He should retire. Get out while he can. Or maybe he doesn’t want out. Not alive, at least. He couldn’t really picture the rest of his life. Was he just supposed to keep doing this, night after night, until he finally got too slow? Or would he give up the mask and try to live a more domestic life? Neither felt right. Nothing felt right. 

With a sigh, he shuffled to the attached bathroom to brush his teeth. As he did so, he couldn’t help but stare at the dead, empty look in his eyes.

When did it get this bad? When did “tired” become a permanent part of his existence? No amount of rest ever left him satisfied. It felt like he was running on fumes day in and day out. And his family… Maybe they could tell something was off. He wasn’t as useful anymore. Maybe that’s why they seemed so distant. 

He shook his head at his own thoughts. 

He just needed to sleep. It might not fix it, but it would help. It was the only way he could stop thinking so much. Thinking left him hollowed out. Empty. 

Something metallic caught his eye and his breath caught in his throat. His razor laid innocently on the countertop. It had been years since the last time he’d cut himself. He was supposed to be past that. It hadn’t been easy, but he’d gotten help and he’d gotten out of the hole he buried himself in. 

But right now, he was just so tired. It would be so easy to give himself that release rather than try to fight it. He’d fought for so long. He just needed a break. A short breather. Then he’d get back on track and no one had to know. 

He barely had to think as he went through the motions. He removed the blades from his razor, making sure to replace the old razor with a new one for later. He locked the doors, both to his bedroom and bathroom. He propped his arm up over the sink with his palm upwards. Reality came back into focus as he pressed the blade against his skin. For a moment, he hesitated. Just as quickly, he felt himself become detached from his arm, from the rest of his body. 

Robotically, he pushed the blade as deep as he dared, then dragged it across his skin, stifling a gasp. He had to control himself, especially after so long without this. He couldn’t risk multiple cuts down his arm or anything too big. Just enough to feel a little better. 

It wasn’t enough. Not enough pain, not enough blood. He had to try again. Going back to the same spot, he cut again, pushing through the blood already rising to the surface. He could feel the skin on his fingertips give in to the pressure against the razor blade. 

There was more pain. He could feel his own skin tearing as he went, but it didn’t feel like he was doing this to himself. He wasn’t the cutter or the one being cut. Or maybe he was both. He didn’t particularly care. More blood spilled, red and warm, over his arm and into the sink. He took in the way the blood splattered onto the surface before forming a river to the drain. 

He wasn’t bleeding enough. He needed to bleed more. Hurt more. 

There were no tears. He didn’t feel afraid or sad. He didn’t feel anything other than the physical pain of his own doing. Even that seemed minor. He pushed harder than before and felt something give. The blood came rushing faster than before, steadily dripping in a way that let him breathe easier. He stopped, enjoying the release like it was a high. 

After a minute or so, he realized he’d never cut this deeply before. Sure, he’d had more serious wounds, but none of those were self-inflicted. Was he going to bleed out from this? How badly would it scar? His family was going to see, they would know. He was fucked. 

The first thing he noticed was the nausea. Soon after came the dizziness and the sensation that he was both hot and cold at the same time. He scrambled to grab toilet paper, tissues, something to stop the bleeding. He thought he might throw up. Was he having a panic attack? Going into shock? He blinked hard, willing his vision to stay clear as he swayed.

He turned the sink on, scrubbing at the blood to come off. He kept pressure on his arm by curling it towards his chest as he lowered himself to his hands and knees. His breathing was getting more labored and it was getting harder to stay upright. His free hand tossed the blades into the toilet and flushed them away before he felt himself losing the battle with consciousness. Slumping against the wall, he wondered if he’d actually lost enough blood to be worried about waking up again. Then, he was gone. 

…

Bruce narrowed his eyes suspiciously. Tim, Damian, and Jason had been whispering to each other since they’d gotten out of costume and left the Batcave. Dick was quiet the whole time, leaving on his own ahead of everyone else, probably hitting the hay while it was still dark out. He’d seemed… off. It wasn’t just tonight, either. He’d been switching between his usual, cheery self and a quieter, more subdued version of himself since he’d reached the manor. 

Shaking his head, Bruce headed to his study. He had work to take care of regarding both his day and night jobs that couldn’t wait much longer. Whatever the boys were planning could wait for the next morning. 

Jason waited until Bruce was out of earshot to speak at regular volume again. “What the hell happened out there? Dick almost got himself killed going after those thugs without backup,” he hissed angrily. 

“And Bruce didn’t even say anything!” Tim added. “He did last night when Dick was being just as reckless, but nothing tonight.”

Damian huffed, arms crossed. “Grayson hasn’t been himself lately.”

“He still with Kori?” Jason inquired.

Tim nodded. “Yeah, as far as I know. I don’t think they’ve been having issues or anything.”

Damian looked uncomfortable, shifting his weight back and forth on his feet.

Jason rolled his eyes. “Spit it out, pipsqueak.”

“Should we…” Damian trailed off, unsure. “Should we _talk_ to him?”

Jason sat down heavily. “It’s…it’s what he’d do for us,” he murmured. Looking up at the younger two, he asked, “So, who should go talk to him?”

Tim joined Jason on the couch, steepling his fingers together. “The most logical decision,” he stated, “would be to send Damian.”

The Robin in question furrowed his eyebrows at that statement. “Why me?” He questioned. “You both have known Grayson longer. It should be Todd.”

Tim held up a hand and continued, looking at Damian. “You guys were Batman and Robin together. You two have always been close, as much as you try and hide it. I think he really wants to be a good role model for you.” He sighed, looking back to the floor. “Jason died and didn’t come back too happy. And he kind of replaced Dick as Robin before that. I don’t think they really had a lot of bonding time. He was off being Nightwing when I first became Robin. He wasn’t really on great terms with Bruce for a while too.”

Jason grunted in agreement. “Yeah. He’s got a point.”

Damian wasn’t sure if he was more shocked by the two agreeing so easily or hearing that his eldest brother apparently spent the most time with him. He knew most of what had happened with the second and third Robins, but he hadn’t realized how Dick really responded to those events. 

“Okay,” Damian said with a nervous swallow. “I will go confront Grayson and let you know how it goes.” With that said, he turned and walked off to Dick’s bedroom.

Once he was gone, Tim slumped back into the couch. “You don’t think…?”

“No. No, he got better. Probably just a stressful week or something,” Jason replied with a stony look on his face. He felt far more concerned than he was willing to show. 

The two both knew of times in Dick’s lifetime that he’d fallen into a depression for months at a time, sometimes involving self-harm or suicidal thoughts. It had been years since he’d last openly struggled with it. They didn’t want to believe he was reaching that point again. 

“It’s still a possibility,” Tim whispered, as if speaking it too loudly would make it more than that.

“We don’t know! We don’t know for sure,” Jason argued, shaking his head. “And even if it was that bad, maybe we’re catching it early. Before he… you know,” he trailed off. 

“Yeah,” Tim agreed quietly. “Before he gets really bad.”

…

Damian knocked on Dick’s door several times, receiving no response. 

“Grayson, this is an urgent matter. Answer me!”

Growing frustrated, Damian tried the door only to find it locked. Frowning, he decided to preserve the integrity of the door and pulled out his lock pick rather than bust the door down. Entering the bedroom, there was no sign of his brother. 

“Grayson? Are you in here?” Damian called out.

He approached the bathroom door and tried that as well, seeing that it was also locked. He was momentarily torn between allowing his brother his desired privacy and doing his duty of checking in on him. He knocked, calling his brother’s name again. He waited. No response. 

Getting worried, he quickly picked the lock, speaking as he did so. “Grayson, I’m coming in. I hope you’re decent—” He cut himself off with a sharp gasp at the sight before him. Dick was leaned up against the wall, unconscious, with blood pooling around one arm. A bloody wad of toilet paper was on the floor nearby. Dick’s face was contorted in pain, even passed out. 

Damian could hear the blood rushing in his ears. He fell to his knees before his brother, grabbing a nearby towel and applying it to where the blood was coming from. He wasn’t fully aware of it, but he must’ve started screaming because suddenly the bathroom was flooded with voices and arms and hands. Someone was pulling him away from his brother, from Richard, and he struggled in their grasp. 

As he was dragged back into the bedroom, he could only watch through his blurry vision as Jason held Dick under his armpits and Bruce carried his legs, the group exiting the room as quickly as they could manage. He was able to make out Tim’s voice behind him, trying to calm him down. Damian eventually gave in, sobbing into his brother’s arms. Tim only tightened his grip, hugging his brother close.

“I’m sorry, Damian. I’m so sorry. You shouldn’t have seen that. We… we should’ve known. I should’ve seen it. I should’ve seen something.” Tim just kept talking, holding back his own tears. Eventually, Damian relaxed in his arms, having cried himself out and fallen asleep. Tim picked him up and gently laid him down on Dick’s bed. He sat next to him, finally letting the tears fall. Then, he waited.

…

Jason and Bruce made their way to the infirmary down in the Batcave. Alfred had been sent ahead to prep a cot for Dick. Once they got Dick settled, Bruce and Alfred buzzed back and forth, grabbing supplies and getting to work. Jason found himself just watching from the outside, feeling the adrenaline start to fade. His hands were shaking. In fact, he could feel his whole body trembling. While he still had control over his legs, he made his way back upstairs. 

Back in Dick’s room, he found Damian asleep next to Tim, whose shoulders shook with silent sobs. He gently wrapped his arms around the younger boy and let him cry into his chest. 

“He’s gonna be fine. Dick’s gonna pull through. He’s gonna be okay,” Jason repeated to Tim over and over until the tears finally let up. His own eyes shining with unshed tears, Jason gave Tim a sad smile. Tim shakily exhaled a full breath, nodding his thanks to Jason. 

Next to the both of them, Damian stirred. Tim quickly wiped at the tearstains on his face and Jason sat down on the edge of the bed. 

Damian opened his eyes and sat up, going from groggy to alert in moments. “Richard, is he—”

“He’s being taken care of,” Jason reassured. “Bruce and Alfred are down in the infirmary with him. I’m sure we’ll be able to go see how he’s doing soon.”

They fell into silence. Damian still felt exhausted from the night’s events and the older two didn’t look much better off. Jason yawned loudly, falling back onto the mattress with his arms behind his head. Tim sniffled, leaning back against the headboard and letting his eyes close. 

Damian laid back down, pulling the covers over himself and breathing in Dick’s comforting, familiar scent from the bedding. He didn’t plan on going anywhere. Tim opened his eyes at the movement and cautiously followed suit. When Damian failed to argue, Tim let himself relax, the two youngest laying back to back. Jason felt feet pushing against his back and sat up, observing the other two.

“Sleepover tonight, huh?” He chuckled softly. “Look how cute you two can be when you’re not at each other’s throats.”

Both grumbled some incoherent excuse but stayed where they were. Of course, that was until Jason wormed his way in between them. The three shifted around until they were as comfortable as they could manage. It didn’t take long for them to fall asleep, comforted by each other’s presence. 

…

Bruce squeezed Dick’s hand. Still no response. Alfred had left at his request. He needed some time alone with his eldest. 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t see the signs for what they were. I’ve been distracted and busy, but that’s no excuse to miss something like this. You were hurting and none of us saw. We’ll make this up to you. I promise.”

There were tears in his eyes as he gave his son’s hand one last squeeze, then headed upstairs to check on his other boys. He checked each bedroom, finding them all empty, until he came back to Dick’s. He found Alfred on his way out with cleaning supplies, having taken care of the mess in the bathroom. Giving him a nod of thanks, he went into the bedroom.

The sight nearly brought him to tears again. Jason was on his back in the center, mouth hanging open and snoring. Tim was on his left, curling into his older brother’s side, hair tousled all around his face. Damian was on Jason’s other side, turned away from him, but his back was pressed up against his side. Each of Jason’s arms had snaked gently around each brother.

With a grin spreading across his face, Bruce snapped a few pictures and snuck out of there before the boys woke up. Those would make wonderful blackmail someday.

…

When Dick woke up, Bruce was by his side. His adoptive father was dozing off in the stiff metal chair he sat in. Looking around, Dick saw the rest of the Batcave was empty. There was an IV in his uninjured arm, probably just fluids to keep him hydrated and stable. Emotions flew through him. Guilt for worrying his family, embarrassment for getting caught, shame for ending up in this situation, all followed by a wave of numbness. It was like covering the intense emotions with a heavy blanket, suppressing them.

While Bruce slept, Dick observed his injured arm. The cuts had been bandaged, but he could see that he’d bled through the inner layers of gauze. He must’ve been on painkillers already because he didn’t feel pain when he moved it, just when he pushed on it. He considered getting up but didn’t want to deal with anyone yet. Unfortunately, he didn’t feel like he’d be able to get back to sleep. 

Several sets of footsteps suddenly sounded from the entrance to the Cave, waking Bruce. He blinked the fog out of his eyes and gave Dick a small, cautious smile before turning to their visitors. 

Jason, Tim, and Damian were strangely silent as they got closer, not making eye contact with each other. Making things even weirder was Bruce’s soft chuckle, like he knew something Dick didn’t. Resolving to ask about that later, Dick waited for someone to speak. 

Instead, Damian all but threw himself at Dick, holding him in a tight embrace. Dick returned the gesture, feeling his eyes well up. “I—We love you, Richard. Do not scare us like that again,” Damian muttered uncomfortably into his ear. 

So unused to Damian showing his affection, this level of intimacy surprised Dick and he hugged his brother harder. “I’m sorry, Dami. I’m so sorry.” Dick’s apology dissolved into sobs as he ducked his head into the youngest’s shoulder. 

He felt more arms, hands, and bodies surround the two as the others joined in on the hug. Dick could hear someone else sniffling softly and another’s arms were shaking. They unfolded gradually, Damian keeping one hand in Dick’s grasp.

All too soon, his family was practically staring him down, clearly expecting some sort of explanation. Even Tim and Jason, swiping at their eyes hastily, had an urgency to their gazes. Dick sighed, looking down at his hands. Damian gave one a comforting squeeze and Dick looked up to see the closest to a reassuring smile the youngest could manage.

Taking a deep breath, Dick looked up at everyone. “Where do you want me to start?” He asked, already sounding drained. 

“What happened?” Jason demanded, his eyes hardened and brows furrowed. At the same time, Tim quietly asked, “Why?”

“Uh, well,” Dick stammered. “I—I felt, um, tired.” The end of his sentence came out more like a question and Jason raised an eyebrow at him. Dick sighed and dragged his good hand down his face. “Okay, it’s like, like everything just felt the same, everything felt…gray. Just, day in and day out. Gray all the time. And I needed color. I needed something different. And for me, that ended up being, uh, cutting. Self-harm.”

The others were silent, absorbing the information. Damian was the first to speak up. “How long has this been going on?” Jason and Tim gave each other knowing, almost guilty looks.

Dick curled into himself unconsciously, slouching and pulling his knees towards his chest. “Since my parents died.”

Damian gave him a gentle squeeze, encouraging him to continue. So, he did.

“This…gray feeling. It’s been around since then. It hasn’t been bad for a while. When it gets…really, really bad, I did stuff like this. Cutting, burning, just being reckless as Robin, Nightwing, sometimes even as Dick Grayson. I just…I wanted to feel something. Something real. Even if it was pain.” 

“Was this a suicide attempt?”

Bruce’s voice startled the younger boys, who had almost forgotten their father figure was still here due to his extended silence. Dick swallowed hard before answering, “It wasn’t supposed to be. No. Just a break.”

“A break?” Jason exploded. “You call almost bleeding yourself out a break? Is death some sort of vacation to you?” Breathing hard, he had to focus to relax his fists before he lashed out at something. 

Dick hunched over even more, flinching at Jason’s tone. To his surprise, Damian was the first to speak up.

“Todd, Richard is sick! When this sickness flares up, he isn’t in his right mind. You cannot blame him for his own mind betraying him.” Damian’s defensive but logical words stopped Jason in his tracks. 

Dick’s mouth hung open. He’d been ready to say something, admit Jason was right and he was being selfish, but Damian had actually made a lot of sense. It took a weight off his chest that he didn’t even know was there. 

“He’s right. Blaming Dick isn’t going to help,” Tim added, once over his shock. “We just have to be there for him when things get bad.” Looking at his oldest brother, he continued. “But, we can’t be there unless you let us know that something’s wrong.”

Bruce nodded solemnly. “Dick, I don’t want to put you on suicide watch, but having at least one of us with you when you feel like this should help.” There was a softness in his eyes that didn’t reach his voice through his worry, but Dick knew it was there.

Dick nodded, agreeing to their terms. Having people to hold him accountable should help. In the past, he’d pushed everyone away, time and time again. Being older now, he could recognize that he needed help and he shouldn’t be so ashamed of asking for it, or even accepting it. If his family members wanted to help him carry this, he would let them.

Tim yawned loudly, breaking the silence that had settled over them. Looking sheepish, he shrugged. “It’s been a long night.”

Checking his phone, Jason cursed and groaned, “It’s already 7 a.m. We hardly got any sleep.”

Bruce pulled out his own phone with a devilish grin, handing it to Dick. “Actually, you all did get some shut-eye.”

Tim realized what Bruce meant first as he saw Dick holding back laughter. He gasped, dramatically whispering, “No, you didn’t.” Bruce just kept smiling as Dick looked back at his brothers with a sappy smile.

Jason growled, “Yes, he did.”

Damian hadn’t caught up just yet, but started blushing furiously as Dick turned the phone around so the other three saw the picture of themselves all snuggled up together in Dick’s bed. “Father!”

Bruce snatched his phone back before Jason or Damian could rip it out of Dick’s grasp. Dick, still smiling, asked, “Could I go up to my room? I think I’d rather rest in my own bed.” Looking over at his brothers, he added, “Open invitation to continue that sleepover.” None of them responded beyond grumbles and rolled eyes.

Bruce nodded, removing the IV while Jason helped Dick up, letting him stand on his own once he felt steady enough. The four Robins began their trip upstairs, Dick still poking fun at the other three. They argued back, but there was no venom in their words. Bruce smiled as he cleaned up the equipment as best as he could for the time being. His boys were gonna be okay as long as they had each other. 

…

None of them would ever admit to it without physical proof, but there was indeed a continuation of the night’s sleepover in Dick’s bed. Dick himself was in between Damian and Tim, while Jason was on Tim’s other side. The four didn’t fit very well on one bed, but they curled around each other to make it work. And this time, the door was locked to keep certain peeping eyes away.


	2. The First Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One particularly grisly encounter shakes Dick, reminding him of his own trauma. His way to cope is less than ideal.
> 
> Set during Robin’s first year or so of existing, so he’s like 10. I Promise I’m Trying by Cavetown was a big mood during this. I'd also like to add that these added chapters will be pretty short, just glimpses into what led up to the main fic, so you don't have to continue reading if the first chapter was enough for you.

It hadn’t been a good night for Dick. As Robin, he’d been working with Batman on a lead to hunt down a possible serial killer. If the killer continued to follow his pattern, they had a good idea who the target would be. Unfortunately, that was just what he wanted them to think. While they staked out one location, the killer made his move on the opposite side of the city. They were too late to stop him from killing a family of three: a mother, father, and son. The kid couldn’t have been much younger than Dick himself.

They’d shown up just as the murderer was making his getaway, but his panic made him sloppy. He fell from the fire escape of the building, tumbling to the ground and dying on impact. Batman called Gordon to the scene while Dick tried not to throw up. Between the sight of the massacre and the gruesome death he’d just seen with his own eyes, his stomach wasn’t handling things well. 

He didn’t remember getting back into the Batmobile or reaching the Batcave. Suddenly, Bruce was draping his big cape around his shoulders and Dick pulled it around himself instinctively. Cowl down but still in costume, Bruce crouched down in front of him. 

“Chum? You okay, Dickie?” Bruce asked, gently placing a hand on Dick’s cheek. Salty tears escaped his eyes, answering the question without saying a word. “That’s okay, Dick. It’s okay to cry and feel sad. If I’d known,” Bruce trailed off, shaking his head. “If I’d known that’s what we were gonna see tonight, I would’ve kept you here. I didn’t mean to put you through that.”

Dick sniffled, wiping his eyes with one hand, tightening his grip on Batman’s cape with the other. He nodded, still not trusting himself to speak. Bruce pulled him in for a hug, an uncommon occurrence, and though it was brief, it melted away some of the dug-up trauma pulling at Dick’s thoughts.

“You think you can hit the showers by yourself, chum?” Bruce held him by the shoulders as he asked. He’d learned quickly how much Dick needed physical contact to be comforted, especially at times like this. Even just holding the kid’s hand could keep him from breaking down completely on some days.

Dick nodded again, taking in a deep breath and getting up. He handed the cape back to Bruce with a cautious smile. “Thanks, Bruce,” he said quietly. Bruce just nodded, giving his shoulder a squeeze before he turned away. Dick left, making his way to the showers as instructed. 

_They were almost the same age as my parents were when they… And the kid. He was about my age. But he died too. And that man, falling, the sound when he hit the ground._ Dick stifled a sob as he started to undress. There were too many parallels between the night’s case and his own personal trauma. 

Taking off his utility belt, one of his birdarangs tumbled out of its container. He picked it up clumsily, vision blurring with tears, and dropped it almost immediately with a yelp as he had accidentally cut himself with it. It was shallow, practically a paper cut. He picked the weapon back up from the floor. 

Stripped from the waist up, he stared at it, fixated. The pain from the cut had felt kind of good, in a way. The logical part of his brain supplied that it was due to the endorphins involved with response to injury. Right now, even that kind of feeling would be better than the pain and emptiness he felt. 

Before he had the chance to question himself any further, he pressed the birdarang into his arm, making a small cut. It was slightly deeper than his accidental slice, but not serious by any means. He wasn’t even sure if it would scar. The endorphins returned, giving him a sense of euphoria through the pain. It didn’t make him happy so much as it blocked off some of the pain in his mind. 

_This isn’t healthy. What would Bruce say? I should talk to Bruce. But… This is helping._

He pulled down the rest of his costume and started on his thighs. Tears continued to run down his face, but he wasn’t sobbing like he had been before. He felt calmer, more stable. He felt more in control than he had in months. God, what he would do to hold onto that feeling.

He’d made several small cuts on his thighs by the time he stopped. Forgoing bandages, he just rid himself of the rest of his costume, making sure not to get blood on it, and started his shower. The blood-- _evidence_ \--was washed down the drain with a painful sting. It took all of his willpower not to cry out at the pain of warm water in his open wounds. 

When he shut the water off, he made quick work of bandaging his injuries. He’d had enough experience with field first aid by now to know what to use and the most efficient way to use it. Once everything was taken care of, he got dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt and headed up to his room. 

Bruce was waiting by his door, trying and failing to look casual in the hall. Dick felt guilt creep up on him. Bruce looked so caring and open, ready to hold Dick until the bad things passed. He hadn’t kept much from Bruce in the relatively short amount of time they’d been living together, but this felt like crossing a line.

_I should tell him. He’ll know what to do. He’ll know how to help. But… what if he thinks this is his fault?_ Dick was all too familiar with the heavy weight of guilt, even at his young age. He couldn’t do that to Bruce. Not while the other man was trying so hard to be the father figure that Dick needed. 

So instead, Dick let himself get pulled into another warm embrace without saying a word about what he’d done to himself. He let Bruce carry him to bed and tuck him in with kind words and a good heart and a comforting presence. Before he knew it, he was nodding off as Bruce sat next to him, gently brushing his fingers through Dick’s hair.


	3. Things Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce fires Dick from his position as Robin. He reacts poorly and Superman is there to help. (I just love the relationship Dick and Clark have. So pure. So wholesome. Basically his substitute dad.)

Bruce had _fired_ him. 

Some part of his mind whispered that he’d always known this day would come. One day, Batman wouldn’t need a Robin. He’d have to grow up, become something new. He just hadn’t expected it to be so sudden. Or so soon.

He’d left the Batcave still wearing his current Robin uniform, but he’d taken the clothes he’d been wearing previously on the way out. He left on his bike, stopping once he was out in the dark woods to change clothes. Seething with anger, he paused as he was putting his shirt on. He’d caught sight of an old scar on his hip, something self-inflicted. He hadn’t cut himself in a few years, but the draw was hard to ignore.

He pulled his shirt back off and retrieved one of his birdarangs from his utility belt. Hesitating for just a moment, the old habit resumed itself as naturally as if he’d never quit. This time, he dragged the sharp edge along his ribcage, leaving a long scratch, blood forming droplets at the surface in seconds. He clenched his teeth at the pain, hissing out his breath. 

Once wasn’t enough. It felt as if he had to make up for all the times he’d wanted to cut in the past couple of years and catch up now that he’d given in. He added new wounds below his first cut until he reached his hips. With each new addition to his collection of scars, Dick got closer and closer to breaking down in tears, but he forced them back. 

His hands shook as they dropped the weapon onto the grass. He fell to his hands and knees as his blood dripped off his skin and onto the ground. He didn’t realize he was having a panic attack until he was gasping for breath while dizziness and nausea fought for his attention. It was then that he felt something inside him _break_.

Dick finally let the tears fall, hiccupping and sobbing alone in the dark. His cuts flared up with pain as his torso heaved with stuttered breaths, but he barely felt it. Fists clenched tight around the grass, his arms started to shake until they gave out beneath him. He smothered his cries of pain as much as he could, but he couldn’t hold back the whimpers of pain that escaped his throat as his cuts throbbed in time with his heartbeat. 

“F-fuck, I’m sor-rry, Bruce,” he murmured to himself. “I’m s-so sorry. W-won’t hap-ppen a-again.”

He laid there, shaking, crying, and bleeding for what felt like hours. Hands on his shoulders and back brought him back to the present and out of his own head. Looking above him, Dick saw Clark Kent, not in his Superman attire, crouched next to him with a worried look on his face. 

“Hey, Dick,” Clark whispered gently, shifting slowly. He treated Dick like a wild animal, liable to flee at sudden movement. “I heard you crying. It seemed bad and it sounded like you were alone, so I came to see if you were alright.” 

Dick sniffled, laughing internally at Clark’s choice of words. Yeah, it was pretty bad, and he felt so alone, and he certainly wasn’t alright. Clark helped Dick sit up, eyes widening in shock when he saw his injuries. 

“What happened to you?” Clark’s hands rushed to the wounds, even though they were bleeding sluggishly if at all. Dick winced at the contact, but didn’t pull away.

“Bruce…He fired me.”

Clark nearly lost it right then and there. His thoughts raced through his mind before he finally settled on something to say. “Fuck Bruce.”

Dick laughed, a hollow sound. “Yeah. Fuck ‘im.”

Clark smiled, happy that Dick was able to sort of joke around. “Why don’t you stay with me for the night? We’ll get you cleaned up and you can talk about it, if you want. I won’t make you. And if you need me to talk to Br—”

“ _No._ ” Dick replied sharply. “No, not yet. I don’t…I’m feeling…” He struggled to find the words he needed. “Not yet.”

Clark nodded. “Okay. Whatever you want. You good if I carry you? I can take the bike too if you can hold onto me.”

Dick paused. He felt like a kid, embarrassed to have gotten hurt. Clark was an important person to him. Someone powerful, inspiring, incredible. He didn’t want to be seen like this in front of him, but here they were. He didn’t have much to lose at this point. He nodded.

Clark helped him get his clothes together, throwing a shirt on him to keep the wounds from getting too irritated during the flight. Once Dick was settled in one arm, he grabbed the bike with his free hand. They took off into the night, on their way to a much-needed rest.


	4. Close Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jumping into the Young Justice universe for a hot second, just roll with it. I plan on doing at least one more of these little added chapters, then this piece may rest.

“ _Fuck!_ ”

Dick launched his phone across the room, straight into the wall. He rubbed his eyes with one hand while the other pressed against his kitchen counter, keeping him upright. 

He knew listening to Wally’s voicemail would just make him upset, but he’d done it anyway. 

The adrenaline that came with the righteous anger he felt started to fade. Tears ran down his face and his body trembled. Unable to keep himself up much longer, he let himself slide down to the floor. His chest shook with sobs he refused to let out and he had to bite back the urge to just scream and scream and never stop. 

His hands went to his hair, pushing and pulling at it anxiously. He needed something to do with his hands, but all he wanted to do was break things and that really wasn’t in his budget at the moment. He needed his apartment in one piece. He bit his lip, harder and harder until he tasted blood. It wasn’t enough.

Breathing shallowly, he remembered an alternative to self-harm he’d learned a long time ago. He needed to feel something, right? He grabbed two ice cubes from his freezer and held one in each hand. As they melted, the intense cold started to burn, providing that sensation he was craving. 

_Not. Enough._

He threw what remained of the ice cubes into the sink and stumbled to his bedroom. It had been years since he’d last cut himself, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Right now, Dick felt like he had no other options.

He searched through his gear until he found an older, slightly cracked “Wing Ding” that wouldn’t be too heavily missed. In the next blink, he was in his bathroom in nothing but his boxers. He looked himself over in the mirror, taking in every scar, both self-inflicted and from his nighttime occupation. It was easy to blend in his own handiwork with everything else.

His legs seemed fitting for the occasion. He could remember the few times Wally had broken his leg or ankle and had to slow down to everyone else’s speed. He was a drama queen for the whole ordeal, complaining about being bored or uncomfortable or lonely until someone gave him enough attention. Dick had played video games and watched movies with him, something they could both enjoy from the comfort of the couch. 

This time, Dick was the one getting hurt. And no one was going to be there for the recovery. 

With his knowledge of the human anatomy, he knew the places to avoid, the places that could result in serious, long-term damage. Keeping that in mind, he took a deep breath and picked a spot on the outside of his thigh, somewhere vulnerable to attack. It would be believable if anyone asked. Rather than cut deeply, he went for a shallow, long slice. 

The relief that came with the pain was indescribable. He kept going, savoring the peace of mind he finally had. When the blood started coming faster, he just moved to the bathtub, washing the blood down the drain with a steady stream of water. 

Exhaustion started to creep up on him, so he stopped, bandaging himself and cleaning up his mess. His tears had dried and his lip was scabbing over already. His leg was wrapped. If anyone asked, he’d blame a mugger who got a lucky hit or something similar. He limped out to his couch in loose sweatpants and a t-shirt, grabbing his phone on the way. The screen protector was pretty busted up. He’d need to get a new one. 

He jumped at the knock at his apartment door, having almost dozed off on the couch for a moment. A quick glance at his phone screen revealed three missed calls from Tim. _Oh._ He hobbled over to the door to find the boy in question standing at the door in civvies. 

“Jesus, Dick. You scared me for a minute there. Why didn’t you answer your phone?” Tim fired off quickly, his tone somewhere between relieved and suspicious. 

“Uh, fell asleep,” Dick replied lamely. _Yep. Nailed it._

They made their way to the couch, Dick trailing behind Tim so the younger wouldn’t see the limp he was struggling to hide. Every little tug on the bandages brought a flareup of pain with it. However, his graceful decline to the couch cushion turned into more of a flop as he grunted in pain, his leg giving up just a little too soon.

Tim eyed him. “You okay? You kinda look like shit.”

“Gee, thanks,” Dick muttered back. “I take it this isn’t a social call?” Deflection was a skill he’d learned from Bruce, and he’d learned it well. 

Tim prattled on about some case he and Bruce had just busted open and then somehow the topic switched to how Tim was doing in school and then back to business.

“Nightwing’s been quiet lately. Everything good?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dick scratched the back of his head and suppressed a yawn. “I’ve just been laying low for a bit. Things have been fairly stable for Bludhaven standards, so I suppose I’m just enjoying it while it lasts.”

Tim nodded, then stared awkwardly at his lap. “Dick, listen,” he started. “I know we—the team—” Tim cut himself off and tried again. “I haven’t been there for you.” He looked up at Dick and there was shame in his eyes. “The secrecy… I didn’t like it. _No one_ liked it. But you—you did what you thought was best. And I don’t think I would’ve done any better. Hell, I don’t think _anyone_ would’ve done any better.”

Tim looked back into his lap while Dick struggled to process what he was hearing. Tim kept talking, continuing to apologize, but Dick was stuck on one thing: Tim was sorry for being upset with him. And as Tim went on, Dick learned that the rest of the team felt awful for how they had treated him. In the midst of betrayal and grief, emotions had run hot and wild. Now, in the aftermath, they wanted to apologize, starting with his little brother. 

“We all lost someone. And we put that on you, which wasn’t fair at all. I’m sorry, Dick. I want to go back to how things were before, when we had each other’s backs no matter what. Bruce even,” Tim chuckled softly. “Bruce wants you to come home. He’d never admit it out loud, but I think the manor feels too empty lately.”

Dick was brought back to hearing the news about Jason, that the young Robin had been killed in the field. Bruce had been a shell of his usual self and it had taken Tim’s steady presence to bring him back from the edge. Bruce had known Wally. He and Dick had been friends since they were kids. Was it so hard to believe that Bruce was worried about how he was coping with his best friend’s death?

“Dick? You okay?” Tim laid a hand on Dick’s thigh, unknowingly atop the bandages. Suppressing the urge to pull away or wince, Dick nodded mutely. Tears threatened to roll down his cheeks and that was the last thing he wanted. Instead, he held them back and gave Tim a wan smile. It was small and sad, but it was something. Tim smiled back, looking relieved. 

Dick pulled Tim nearly onto his lap for a hug, both of them feeling safe and secure in the other’s embrace. If Dick shed a few tears onto Tim’s shoulder or vice versa, neither of them brought it up. When they pulled apart, Dick agreed to stay at the manor for a while. Tim promised to keep him entertained, already leaping into an explanation of his most recent project. 

Dick just smiled and listened and nodded, all the while, still coming to terms that he was forgiven. The storm cloud that had been weighing him down for weeks upon weeks finally lessened its grip on him, letting him breath a little fresh air and feel the warmth of the sun again.


	5. New Lows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This part covers the "incident" mentioned by Jason and Tim way back in the first chapter. Timeline? We don't know her. We're riding it out in some kinda alternate universe where Jason's chilling with the Batfam but Tim's only just recently become Robin and Jason doesn't want to instantly murder him. Just for the sake of plot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY. Life got real busy, I wrote a whole thing and then scrapped it cause I hated it, and then this finally happened. This is the final part! Thanks for coming along for whatever fucked-up ride I created! As usual, lots of warnings: mentions of self-harm, suicide/suicidal thoughts/actions, general sad times for everyone. Have some feelios y'all.

Tired blue eyes scanned the horizon as the sun dropped lower and lower in the sky. Rooftops were as familiar to him as sidewalks were for most people. Sitting on the ledge, legs dangling below, Dick leaned back on his hands and let out a long breath. His hoodie wasn’t quite enough to keep out the wind and he shivered. 

Movements lazy and slow, he picked up a chip of concrete next to him and dropped it over the ledge. It disappeared from sight in moments, but he could imagine its journey down to the pavement below. Freefalling faster and faster, wind rushing past it, until it made sudden, hard contact with the ground. 

He lifted his head up again as a car alarm went off somewhere down the street. He couldn’t remember the name of the neighborhood he was in, only that it was relatively middle class and quiet enough to stay off most patrol routes. The latter was the more important part. 

Absentmindedly, he scratched at the fresh scars under his hoodie sleeve. His nails came away wet with blood and he wiped it off on his jeans. That wouldn’t amount to much after the night was over. What was an open scab to suicide?

Because that’s what he was there for. For someone who used to feel so free on these same rooftops, he was feeling pretty heavy right now. He was all too aware of how gravity would pull on him once he let it. He’d taken care of things before coming out here. There was a note stuffed in between couch cushions; someone would find it eventually, but not quick enough to interfere. His will and similar paperwork had been taken care of. He’d tried to make today go smoothly for everyone, with moderate success. 

Only a sliver of the sun remained visible. Once it disappeared, he was going to jump. Or fall. Certainly not fly. 

He wasn’t sure what he’d expected from himself, but the bottomless apathy he was experiencing was a bit of a surprise. He didn’t feel like crying. He didn’t even feel scared. He felt more at peace with himself than he had in months. His family and friends would mourn him, for a time. It wasn’t ideal to throw your sudden suicide at your loved ones, but he hadn’t ended up here because it was his first choice. 

He’d tried therapy and medication and meditation and exercise and gardening and positive thinking. He’d tried changing and reshaping himself into who he thought he wanted to be, but he kept coming out the same: tired, sad, and running on empty. Sometimes, he wondered if something inside him, something vital, had broken within him when his parents died, and it was something that could never be replaced, no matter what he did. 

Bruce had taken his parents’ deaths and created a legacy of protection, justice, and security. Dick had tried to follow him, but that simply wasn’t him. He didn’t crave righteousness the same way Bruce did. He didn’t have that drive, whatever kept pushing the Batman to keep fighting every night. Dick was tired of coming up empty all the time. 

The sun’s glow was fading. 

Dick stood up, groaning after sitting in place for so long. Police sirens wailed somewhere in the distance and he could imagine hundreds of scenarios they could be responding to. As long as it wasn’t him, he wasn’t feeling too concerned about it. 

Placing both feet atop the ledge, he let out a breath. The drop below was sickening. About 40 stories straight down to an empty parking lot. Not too many civilians around. No obstacles in his way. 

Was he really doing this?

It would just take one step. 

With a deep inhale, Dick closed his eyes. And took that step.

…

The next thing he became aware of was his body bouncing up and down with the footfalls of whoever was…carrying him? Blinking his eyes open, he groaned, immediately regretting it. His vision was blurry at best and his head was pounding. In fact, his whole body hurt. He thought he heard a muffled voice somewhere above him but couldn’t tell much more than that.

As he struggled to stay conscious, he realized he was being put upright onto something while the other person settled in behind him. There was a sudden lurch of movement that sent waves of nausea through him, and then he passed out again. 

He got flashes of consciousness now and then, usually bright lights or loud noises that pierced his skull and made him want to puke. Sometimes he heard that same voice talking again, and he thought he heard his own name once or twice. They were moving far too quickly for his body to keep up with, so he wasn’t awake long enough to figure anything out. 

He came to again when the mystery person scooped him up in their arms bridal-style again and started walking. He buried his head in their chest with a muffled groan, trying to fight the pain in his head. He felt the person’s chest rumble as they spoke and made out some of the words. “Need…stay awake…got you.”

Squinting his eyes, he was able to make out a face above him. Dark hair, pale skin, strong jawline, and unmistakable white locks hanging over Jason’s forehead. “Jay?” Dick mumbled against his leather jacket. 

“Welcome back to the land of the living, Dickhead,” Jason replied without looking down. He struggled to open a door with one hand while also keeping Dick in his arms until it was pulled open from the other side. “Thanks, kid,” Jason grunted. He didn’t have to go much farther into the room before he placed Dick gently onto something soft. 

“Shit, he’s bleeding. Can you—” Jason had turned, clearly talking to whoever had opened the door.

“Bandages right here.” The other person interrupted him, the slightest shake to his young voice.

“Did you go through my shit that quick?” Jason huffed, turning back to Dick with bandages and gauze in his hands. 

“Who doesn’t keep their first aid in the bathroom or kitchen? Didn’t take much looking,” the other voice replied, sounding vaguely familiar to Dick. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but it reminded him of his days as Robin. 

Jason grumbled something to himself but got to work, pulling Dick’s torn sweatshirt off to see the damage he’d recently reopened on his forearm. “Dammit, Dick,” he breathed, pausing for just a moment before he started wrapping Dick’s arm, unconcerned with cleaning the wounds for right now. 

Once that was taken care of, his hands moved to Dick’s forehead. Somewhat gentler, he went through the same process while Dick slowly realized he must’ve hit his head pretty hard for it to be bleeding without him noticing. That would also explain the difficulty with staying awake and coherent for more than a few minutes at a time. 

“Hey, Sleeping Beauty. Not right now,” he growled, shaking Dick gently by the shoulders. Dick’s eyes snapped open. He hadn’t even realized they’d fallen shut. He tried to sit up only for Jason to hold him down by the shoulders.

“Where ‘m I? How’d you—” Dick stuttered, eyes flickering around the room. It was then that he saw Tim, the newest Robin, standing near the bedroom door and looking uncomfortable. Before he could do much to process that, Jason was back in his face. 

“Care to explain to me how you managed to fall off a building?” Jason narrowed his eyes as he spoke. He knew Dick’s history with acrobatics. He wasn’t the type to fall off of _anything,_ let alone entire buildings. 

When Dick just continued staring, dumbfounded, Jason sighed and leaned back, covering his face with one hand. Through his fingers, he sighed, “Kid, you mind givin’ me and Dickie a moment?” Tim didn’t say a word, just slipped out of a bedroom and shut the door softly behind him. Jason sighed again and let his hand fall to his side. 

“Dick. Did you or did you not just try to kill yourself?”

Dick blinked dumbly. His mind worked double time to catch up to what he’d just heard. He hadn’t expected it to be that blunt, even from Jason. He wasn’t sure he was ready to have this conversation. Hell, he’d never be ready to have this conversation with anyone, let alone Jason. Jason, who showed up from time to time and never seemed to stick to one side or the other. He never stayed at the manor, but occasionally worked with the Bats on a case or two. Tim had never met him though. How did the kid get involved in this mess?

Jason snapped his fingers in front of Dick’s face. “Hey, Dickhead. Pay attention. Was that a suicide attempt? Yes or no?” His face showed no emotions, except maybe frustration that Dick hadn’t answered yet.

Dick’s mouth opened and closed, words failing him. Instead, he stared at the ceiling and nodded just once. Jason let out a breath that could’ve been mistaken for a sob and Dick looked over to him quickly. Jason was bent over, hands braced on the mattress, as his shoulders shook. His hair hung down, obscuring the view of his face. 

“Jay?” Dick whispered cautiously.

“ _Don’t,_ ” Jason whispered darkly. “Shut up.”

Dick fell silent obediently and resumed staring up at the ceiling. He’d wait until Jason got himself back together. He wasn’t sure what kind of reaction he’d expected from the younger man and he certainly hadn’t planned on dealing with it. 

“I wish I had stayed dead at least once every day of my goddamn life,” Jason spoke up again, voice as hard as iron. “What kind of twisted second chance is digging yourself up out of your own grave? I can _remember_ my own death. I can’t forget it.” He swallowed hard. “You don’t understand what you have, Dick. You have a family that actually, truly cares about you. You have your whole life ahead of you still.” 

Jason straightened up and looked Dick in the eyes. “Don’t fucking throw that away.”

With that, he left the room, slamming the door behind him. After a beat of silence, the door opened again, much more gently this time. Light footsteps approached the bed and Tim stood awkwardly next to Dick’s head. 

“Dick, I—I don’t know if you want to, you know, talk about anything, but, if you ever do, I’m here. Okay?” Tim’s voice was quiet and scared but he was trying so hard to be brave and strong for someone he admired and saw as an older brother. He hadn’t been Robin for long, but he understood the need to protect people quite well. It pained him to see Dick hurting so much. 

Dick nodded, unable to make eye contact or force words up out of his throat yet again. He heard Tim settle on the ground, possibly leaning up against the mattress. He supposed he was there to wake Dick up every few hours or so, make sure his concussion didn’t cause any permanent damage. Plus, they were going to keep him away from anything he could hurt himself with. 

He wondered when they’d give him over to Bruce. Maybe they’d send him to the psych ward at the hospital. That…might not be the worst thing in the world. Better than being trapped at the manor with Bruce watching over his back like a hawk. Bruce…how would he react to this? Bruce would try to help, in his own awkward, stumbling way. Emotions didn’t come as easily to him as they did to Dick, but his heart was in the right place. 

Alfred, Babs, everyone close to him would know. They’d know just how bad things had gotten and how weak he was. He wouldn’t be able to be Nightwing anymore. Not for a long time, at least. Maybe that was for the best. 

He was exhausted. He could hear Tim tapping away on something, probably a phone or a tablet. Knowing he was in no shape to try to escape, Dick succumbed to the inevitability of sleep.

…

Jason was going shopping. For what? Plates. Lots of cheap plates. He’d found that breaking things was wonderful for relieving stress, but breaking his own shit was expensive and annoying. So instead, he started buying inexpensive, fragile plates, taking them home, and throwing them against the walls and the floor until he wasn’t angry anymore. Once he cleaned up the mess, he ended up too tired and drained to do anything he might regret. It was a pretty nice system. 

This time, though, he felt different. It wasn’t just rage that was making his heart pound and his hands shake. He was scared. Terrified, even. He had watched his own brother let go of his life. How do you recover from that? He’s seen some shit, that’s for sure, but nothing had ever prepared him for this. 

He barely made it down to his car, something gray, older, and inconspicuous, before he broke down. He didn’t cry hard. His body just shook as tears silently raced down his cheeks. He rested his head against the steering wheel and tried to get himself back under control. He wasn’t trying to get drawn back into the family and their baggage, but he’d been in the right place at the right time. He’d called Tim because he knew he couldn’t handle this on his own, but he’d be damned if he called Bruce for help ever again. 

Once his breathing resumed a normal pace and his hands were the only part of him left trembling, he started the car and made his way out of the parking complex next to his apartment building. 

…

When Dick awoke next, Jason was sitting on the edge of the bed by Dick’s legs. He was idly playing with a pocketknife, flicking the knife in and out, in and out. When he noticed Dick’s eyes were open, he only grunted in reply. 

Dick felt much more coherent than he had before and decided to try to speak again. “How did I…?” Dick trailed off, pointing to the bandages on his head and wincing with the movement. 

“I was coming from the opposite direction, so when I grappled into you, my momentum took us both into the brick wall of the fuckin’ building,” Jason replied sourly. He pulled up his shirt to show red, black, and blue bruising down his ribcage on his side and towards his back. Dick winced and Jason laughed mirthlessly. “You should see yourself.”

Dick frowned and pulled up his shirt only to find similar, if slightly less severe, bruising on his chest and sides. With a grimace, he lowered it back down and relaxed back into the bed.

“You took it more in the front. I managed to turn around so I fucked my spine over instead,” Jason explained further, still not quite making eye contact with Dick. “I’d be concussed too if not for the good ol’ helmet.”

Dick hummed in reply, already feeling tired again. “Hey, Li’l Wing?”

Jason froze for a moment before resuming his repetitive actions with the knife. “Yeah, D?”

“Thanks,” Dick mumbled. He had to get this out before he fell asleep again. “And ‘m sorry you had to—”

“Don’t. Don’t go there, Dick.” Jason made a noise between a growl and a sigh, then finally turned to face Dick. “I never, _never_ wanna see your ass pulling a stunt like that again, got it?” Once Dick nodded, eyes barely open, he continued. “I’m not telling Bruce. He doesn’t know how to deal with this shit. But you…you have to promise me that you’ll get help, okay?”

Dick wasn’t sure if he was still awake or had already dozed off because it sounded like Jason was choked up. Like he was close to tears. And that wasn’t his little brother. Still, he nodded and squeezed back against the hand that took his as he finally drifted off.


End file.
